


The Virtues of Silence

by theeventualwinner



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Shameless Smut, Silverfisting, dubcon, mainly, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/pseuds/theeventualwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annatar begins to tire of a certain young Noldo's talkativeness, and resolves to teach him some manners, of sorts.</p>
<p>Oneshot. For now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Virtues of Silence

_So somehow these two have eluded my writing endeavors thus far (well, at least with Sauron as Annatar). Now no longer. A pleasant diversion, methinks, from horrifically wounded Elves, as we've not gotten to that stage in **this**  particular relationship yet! _

_More we're at the point where Celebrimbor is beginning to suspect that Annatar is not quite what he seems._

_Enjoy xx_

* * *

 

“What do you think of it, Annatar?”

Celebrimbor held aloft a necklace gorged with rubies, and appraised it with narrowed eyes. In the ruddy glow of the furnace, the jewels glistened like drops of congealing blood, linked with a web-like filigree of silver thread that splayed through Celebrimbor’s fingers. 

From his nonchalant lean against the warm bricks that lined the furnace’s mouth, Annatar raised his head. His golden eyes lingered hungrily upon the trinket, and upon the Noldo who held it. 

“Well?” Celebrimbor prompted, looking insistently over at the Maia. “What do you think?” 

Annatar’s eyebrow arched, a strange quirk played over his lips. 

 _I’d like to see you choke on it._  

“Very nice, Tyelpe,” he murmured. His head cocked to the side as he shifted, and the spill of his unbound hair tipped like a slick of molten gold over his shoulders. 

The necklace was fair, it could not be denied, but with far more interest Annatar’s gaze slid over the one who held it, and dark cinders kindled into life behind those cool, aureate eyes. With predatory gluttony he regarded the clot of the shadows between Celebrimbor’s clavicles, the corded twist and ripple of his arms as he stood silhouetted against the furnace in his sleeveless jerkin. 

“Do you have nothing else to say? Typically you are overflowing with advice. Or criticism.” Celebrimbor looked over to Annatar once more, and a playful smile hinted at the edges of his lips. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” 

Annatar grinned at him in response, and against the embers of the furnace the Maia’s eyes were dazzling. 

“It is a marvel, Tyelpe,” he purred, and decadence dripped from every syllable. “Truly, you have outdone yourself…” 

Annatar peeled himself away from the wall, but as he glided over to the workbench where Celebrimbor stood, more soberly then did the elf turn back to his handiwork. For all his fairness, Annatar could be fickle when the mood struck him, and through trial and painful error Celebrimbor had long since learned to goad him only with the utmost of caution, and with feyness to match.   

Ignoring the wash of desire that tickled him, stoically he continued, “But surely the necklace has faults? This ruby here, you see, I am not so pleased with its finish, and I fear that the setting upon this one is frail at best. This new metal from the Hadhodrim’s mountains is not so easily smelted as I had hoped.” 

“Mmm…” Annatar came to a smooth halt at Celebrimbor’s side, and slyly then did his eyes run over the elf’s tall, well-muscled frame. 

“These silver alloys, the carbon matter in them is rough, very rough. They tend to stick, where better they should be made to sing…” 

Annatar’s slender fingers drummed a slow rhythm atop the bench.

“Though Narvi always said that when treated correctly then it could become pliant; under the right pressures it might be made to bend…”

“Tyelpe?” 

“Yes?” 

“ _Stop talking_.”

In one fluid, vicious motion Annatar’s hand snaked upwards, by the collars of his jerkin Celebrimbor was yanked forward, and Annatar’s lips slammed up against his own. The necklace dropped to the bench-top in a cascade of clinking jewels as with bright ardour in kind Celebrimbor responded, desire suddenly shrieking into life within him.   

Annatar’s fingers knotted into Celebrimbor’s jerkin, and a moment later the elf was shoved backwards; even though Annatar was slighter than he, the force was more than enough to send him stumbling. But relentlessly Annatar stepped up to him, once more his lips locked upon his own, and with only slightly more control Celebrimbor allowed Annatar to steer him backwards. His spine crushed against the opposing wall, but still Annatar drove forward, until his head cracked back into the stone from the sheer force of the Maia’s kiss. And through the ache of that concussion, despite the grunt of pain that punched down his partner’s throat, he could feel Annatar grin against him. 

Slim hands pulled at the clasps of his jerkin, and Annatar’s head dipped as he trailed a constellation of hot little kisses down the side of his neck. Under the Maia’s soft lips every press of his skin seemed to spark with effervescence, every kiss seemed to throb, and unbidden Celebrimbor’s legs parted by just a fraction, his body trembled in mounting excitement.

Annatar’s tongue licked up the side of his neck, and he fought to conceal the moan of pleasure that surged up his throat. But though valiantly he tried, a badly stifled groan escaped his lips, as lust and the last shreds of decorum battled within him. Then Annatar reached downwards, with his clever fingers he stroked Celebrimbor beneath his breeches, and all thoughts of decorum were banished, like mist withers before the blazing sun.

A tiny snort of laughter emanated from Annatar’s throat as Celebrimbor stiffened, and more firmly then did the Maia palm him, his lips pressing back to Celebrimbor’s own.

“Oh!” Celebrimbor gasped, as Annatar’s fingers teased him almost painfully hard. “A-annatar…”

But at his words, Annatar’s pleasurable motions suddenly stopped, and still as stone the Maia stood against him.

“What part of ‘stop talking’ do you find hard to grasp, Tyelpe?” 

Displeasure bristled in Annatar’s voice, and like a scythe it cut through Celebrimbor, who recoiled, staring at him in affront. And whether it was the menace in Annatar’s voice, or the churn of frustrated passions, or some dread mingling of the two: anger rumbled into life within him. As much as he could he jerked away from the Maia’s touch, raising his chin proudly as that annoyance kindled into defiance, and then to indignation.

“Do not presume to threaten me, Annatar,” he growled; and with irritating coolness Annatar smirked back up at him.

At such silent impetuousness Celebrimbor bridled, fury pulsed anew in him, and before he knew quite what he intended he sidestepped Annatar’s press, twisting himself around. But as he moved his hands came up, his fingers snared upon the lapels of Annatar’s shirt, and after one quick moment of torsion it was Annatar’s back that slammed up against the wall. And the flare of shock that burst in those ever-cool eyes sent such exquisite waves of victory spiralling through Celebrimbor that he thought he might drown in them.

“What are you going to do, Annatar?” he sneered, foiled lust twisting to vindictiveness in him.

He ran a finger possessively up the Maia’s neck, over his jaw, and as his fingertip curled over Annatar’s lips he could feel the hot flush of breath against it.

“Are you going to make me?” he gloated.

With savage delight he spied the pinkish tinge mottling over those pale cheeks, he could feel Annatar’s breath quicken against his fingertip; and with reckless abandon he continued. His strong shoulders rolled, a bright star of confidence pulsed in his stomach, and dominance unfurled a little more with each new heartbeat. 

“It’s your move, little Maia,” he leered. “What are you going to do? Are you going to force me? Are you going to make me _beg_?” 

His lips crushed onto Annatar’s in a feral, biting kiss; and beneath the forcible slide of his tongue against Annatar’s teeth, he felt the response. Annatar’s lithe body seemed to undulate against the wall as he ground his hips upwards against Celebrimbor’s own, sending blades of careless arousal stabbing up through him. Annatar’s hands groped upwards, his fingers scraped up the sides of Celebrimbor’s neck; but where that touch should have been submissive, a challenge suddenly blared, and Annatar’s lips seemed to scorch against his. 

“You play at games that you have not the wit to fathom,” Annatar purred, and with his words a swell of puissance crackled through the room. 

Celebrimbor’s stomach clenched, Annatar’s fingers clasped with bruising force about the sides of his neck. He opened his mouth to protest, to somehow resist; but unbidden desire ripped up anew from the base of his stomach; such perverse, unquenchable lust seized him, it poured through his veins, it clotted through muscles. His eyes widened, the breath caught in his lungs, and beyond voluntary control he dropped to his knees, near panting up at Annatar like a bitch in heat. 

For suddenly Annatar loomed over him; a figure cast in such aching perfection, gold and wise and pure and untouchable, and he was but a cringing servant at his feet, unworthy even to lick his boots. But then Annatar smiled, and as if watching blood swirl through sublime cream that illusion shifted, Annatar became something else: beautiful, yes, but rotted; corrupt and vile and _irresistible_ ; and all the harder did that cloying desire wrench in Celebrimbor’s stomach.

Screaming instinct guided him, caution was smashed aside in its clamour; and Celebrimbor’s hands rose to Annatar’s hips, he flung aside the fabric of his shirt. He raked his nails down Annatar’s thighs, feeling the jolt and clench of his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his breeches, and spurred on by that reaction he shoved his hands back upwards, grabbing for the lacings that knitted between the tantalizing slant of his hips. With such lewd delight he felt the swell of flesh beneath that tight press of fabric, and roughly he jerked open the lacings, wild desire stoking ever higher within him.

But as Annatar wriggled free of his trappings, a sudden, inexplicable foreboding welled up in Celebrimbor’s heart, and that chill premonition was enough to quell even the heat of his ardour. He paused, but even as he did so Annatar shoved his head downwards, and brute strength was thrown behind that push. Celebrimbor twisted his head aside of that painful momentum, and at that display of such overt violence, the first glimmers of true mistrust broke in his eyes as he glanced upwards.

“Annatar, w-wait…” he panted, opening his mouth to continue.  

But in one sinuous thrust Annatar guided himself past Celebrimbor’s teeth, and in horrified surprise Celebrimbor gagged around that sudden violation. Annatar’s hands knotted through his hair, holding him firmly in place as he ground his hips forward, pressing himself unstoppably towards the back of his throat. The muscles of Celebrimbor’s trachea closed, then flexed back open in desperate, uncontrollable reflex; and above him he heard Annatar sigh. 

Celebrimbor’s back arched, his hands scrabbled against Annatar’s thighs as he tried to push himself free, but mercilessly Annatar held him down, and under that cruel grip he could do nothing but squirm. Dots of colour began to flash across his vision, and at the panicked whimper that flitted from his throat Annatar at last released him, dragging his head back until they were parted entirely. Slim ropes of his saliva shivered from Annatar’s length; and at such flagrant evidence of his submission Celebrimbor blushed crimson; even as he gasped in relief, shame flooded through him. 

“Annatar p-please…wait…” he plead, but before another word could cross his lips Annatar pushed him back down. And led by instinct that he could not tame, his lips parted to accept him.

The tip of his nose brushed the flat muscles of Annatar’s pelvis, and that depth of contact send strands of saliva dripping from the corners of his lips. And whether that humiliation tipped him over into some unheralded plane of emotion, or some last barb of Annatar’s power hooked him still he did not know; but once more desire ignited in his stomach, and this time it burned all more fiercely.

Unprompted he slid himself back up Annatar’s length, and with that sensual movement his tongue traced the swollen veins that ridged Annatar’s underside, eliciting a sharp gasp of pleasure from above him. A wicked smile curved over Celebrimbor’s lips as he slid back down, even wrapped about Annatar’s length as they were. The Maia was not his master, not yet, not _ever_ ; and for every bit of pleasure he gave, Celebrimbor would take in measure. 

His hands wrapped around the backs of Annatar’s legs, his fingernails dug into the sensitive insides of his thighs, and under that stinging pressure he felt Annatar stiffen even further. His hips rolled upwards to meet Celebrimbor’s eager tongue, but upon a capricious whim Celebrimbor withdrew, barely skating Annatar’s length as he drew himself upwards. At that change in sensation Annatar moaned, but whether it was in encouragement or rank dismay it was impossible to discern.   

An indulgent flare sparked alight in Celebrimbor’s stomach, and with a bright surge of confidence he withdrew as far as he dared, his lips only brushing over Annatar’s tip. And mischievously he flicked his tongue forward; teasing his slit, toying with the engorged rims of flesh that ringed his arousal, and to his colossal satisfaction a strangled cry of delight emanated from above him.

“See,” he whispered, his lips planting ghostly little kisses atop Annatar’s tip as heedlessly he spoke, “you are not so lordly, Annatar. You d– “

Suddenly Annatar’s hands closed like steel traps about Celebrimbor’s head, his fingers gripping into the sides of his skull painfully hard. And in a move designed for neither comfort nor pleasure Annatar slammed his head back down.

He gagged in earnest as Annatar shoved himself unpleasantly far down his throat; the tip of his nose crushed into the Maia’s pelvis even as he spluttered in shock, as he struggled to keep his throat open at this fresh invasion. Remorselessly Annatar pinned him in place, his jaw trembled with the effort of holding such a forced position, and as if somehow he heard the treacherous thought that raced through his mind, Annatar hissed down at him, “Bite me, dearest, and I will flay you alive.”

Venom blistered in his voice, and in that sinking moment of realization Celebrimbor was sure that should he fail, then friend or no, Annatar would make good upon his promise. So desperately he held his mouth open, even as a dismayed whine wormed from the base of his throat, saliva bubbling at the edges of his lips as he began to choke. 

“You still have so much to learn, Tyelpe,” Annatar purred, and something fey rolled in his voice, something so alien to the Maia’s usual, even tones. “You still have many things yet to master, and yourself not least among them.” 

A squeak of protest forced itself from Celebrimbor’s throat, and Annatar’s hands clenched tighter around his skull. In that dreadful grip he squirmed, but Annatar held him fast, and he could almost feel the sadistic mirth in the Maia’s smile.

“Stay there a while, if you would, _lover._ Dwell upon the virtues of silence. You prove yourself incapable of such grace, so training shall be meted out until you have the grasp of it.” 

Annatar’s words sliced through him, and futilely Celebrimbor struggled in his grip; a horrifying flush then mottling over his cheeks as he felt his contortions only coax Annatar harder. 

“Or,” the Maia snarled, “perhaps you will simply learn to _obey,_ and come to heel when bidden.”

Bright fury blazed through Celebrimbor, and with every ounce of his strength he tried to wrest himself free; and in such terrible contrast to his torment he felt Annatar’s hips buck in pleasure; every measure of his discomfort ridden only for Annatar’s delight. 

Injustice bred furore, and from that furore the hideous, debasing feeling of being used came seething up Celebrimbor’s throat. But with Annatar’s hands trapped about him those emotions were halted, they swirled with impotent rage within him, and bitterly he was forced to endure the Maia’s scorn. 

Lazily Annatar dragged his head backwards, and in helplessly Celebrimbor followed that movement, every swirl and flick of his tongue along Annatar’s length now resentful, and as quickly as he could he tried to finish him, he tried to make this humiliation come to its end.   

And with an almost _disinterested_ groan Annatar climaxed, a grimace of disgust spasmed over Celebrimbor’s face as hot ropes of his seed slid down his throat. With little other option he swallowed, and the urge to spit Annatar’s filth back into his smug, grinning face went sadly denied. But more than anything that feeling of use gripped him, that casual sense of defilement, to be taken and moulded in Annatar’s hands like he didn’t even matter, like he wasn’t even a person; just a means to an end in a game that he could not understand. That doubting horror, that insidious shame unfurled its barbed tendrils within him, they wound about his heart and the thorns began to puncture. 

With a smirk Annatar withdrew, swiftly lacing up his breeches; and Celebrimbor knelt still on the stones before him, his head bowed.

With the lofty air of a merciful conqueror did Annatar then draw him up, and numbly Celebrimbor allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. And with such stunning condescension Annatar wiped free a droplet of liquid that clung to the corner of his mouth, his finger dragging hard over his skin. 

“There now,” Annatar cooed, but the cold glitter in his eyes did not match the softness of his voice. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” 

Celebrimbor could sense the expectation in his voice; he could sense the _dare_ , even. And with every ounce of self-control he fought down the urge to scream, to grab Annatar and just slap him straight across his arrogant face, to throttle that audacity from him; to watch _him_ writhe, to watch _him_ beg, to leave him broken and empty and gasping on the floor. 

_I am not your pawn._

_You are not my master._

Celebrimbor’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but fiercely he muzzled that temptation; to give in would be to buckle right into Annatar’s hands, and pride and will enough he had to deny even a Maia that delight.

Reticently he held his silence, and his eyes smouldered like burning coals as he stared down at Annatar.

A sharp trill of laughter echoed from the Maia’s throat, and as a man might bestow a dainty upon his beloved pet, gently he took Celebrimbor’s cheek in his hand. But what violent gluttony throbbed in his voice as at last he purred: “ _Good boy_.” 

Those two words hovered in the air in all their indignity, and with a final smirk Annatar departed. Alone in the stifling air Celebrimbor stood, the cowed master of his forge, and with a wrench that was almost wistful the door slammed shut in Annatar’s wake. The red embers of the furnace flickered restlessly, but despite their glow the shadows about the corners of the room seemed to thicken, until within their darkness Celebrimbor was enmeshed.

 


End file.
